


Deviating Between Mastery and Attraction

by choirofangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Casual Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking, Twink Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirofangels/pseuds/choirofangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A three part smutfest where Kansas State student Castiel has a reason to be excited about being back in Lawrence, until he doesn't need to come back anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daddy, I'm Home

Castiel pokes his head around the door of the lounge where his mom is sat knitting. 'I'm going to see Charlie,' he tells her. 'I'll be back later.'

She eyes him a little suspiciously and he tries not to squirm. Eventually, she gives him a curt nod and tells him dinner will be on the table at six. He thanks her, pulls on his shoes and leaves the house.

Sighing, he steps down off the porch out into the cold air, pulling his overcoat closer around himself. Sometimes he doesn't know why he comes home at all, his mom's almost as warm as the weather and his three older brothers haven't lost amusement in endlessly tormenting him every single second of every goddamn day.

Still, there is _one_ good thing about coming home from college. Taking a left at the end of his street, he begins walking in the opposite direction he'd be going in if he was actually going to Charlie's house, and the further he gets from home, the bigger the spring in his step.

He's going to see Dean. Drop dead gorgeous, down for casual sex, ridiculous hot book nerd Dean Winchester.

On the way there he walks past the library, where they'd met almost a year ago, in – as had Dean put it – a book club for hipsters. They'd gotten through three or four books, maybe some Vonnegut and Burroughs, before it'd become crystal fucking clear that the meetings were less about reading and discussing underlying philosophy, and more about catching one another staring and discussing underlying sexual tension. How the rest of the group hadn't noticed was beyond either of them; or maybe they had, and just not said anything.

As it happens, opportunity had well and truly knocked about a month later, when a storm had hit and Dean had offered to give him a ride home. They'd kissed right there in front of his house, and it had been the singularly best thing to have ever happened to Castiel in his entire life.

That is, until he'd gone to visit Dean one night after school, when he'd told his LGBTQA group he was going home to work and told his mom he was staying late to help with extra-curricular activities. They'd made out until he'd been straining in his boxers, begging for more. Castiel had been eighteen for almost four months by that point, legal by anybody's standards, which is why he considered Dean holding out on him to be an act of cruelty.

'I'm old enough to be your Dad, Cas,' Dean had argued, which was a total bullshit lie. There were six years between them, not twenty-six, but Castiel had decided to use it to his advantage.

'But I want to suck your cock _Daddy_ ,' he'd joked, voice like he was sick of Dean's ridiculous games, batting his eyelashes, letting the last word fall out without shame or remorse. He'd laughed at the loud, unashamed moan Dean had given him in response. He'd needed something to push Dean over the edge, to bring sex completely onto the table (and the sofa, the floor, the bed, the chair, even the kitchen countertop) and talking dirty had definitely worked. For Castiel the next few months were a whirl of studying hard, finals and casual, kinky, brilliant sex. 

Then, because nothing lasts forever, Castiel had graduated high school. That summer, he'd moved away to Kansas State, away from home, away from Dean. There were no long goodbyes and no false promises. Castiel knew he'd see Dean again, eventually, even if it might be a long time until he did, even if that time apart _sucked_. 

Then again, it's not like Castiel wanted to be shot down asking Dean to be something more; he knew he'd say no.

So, between then and now, Castiel has been with other people, and he knows Dean will have too. That doesn't matter to him, he's convinced it doesn't, because they have what they have and it works as well as it's going to. So he's fine with it, until he gets a little closer to Dean's place and a gnawing feeling starts in his gut, the thought striking Castiel that maybe Dean's found someone special, or maybe he just won't want to see him at all.

His place looks like every single other house on the street, plain and simple, two-up-two-down with an open front yard. Castiel takes a deep breath, holds it all the way to the front door, lets it out and knocks twice, smoothing down his t-shirt and looking at his shoes.

When the door opens, he looks up into Dean's beautiful, surprised smile. The guy hasn't changed a bit, from his chiselled jaw to his dirty blonde hair, sticking up every which way, to his piercing, soul-searching green eyes.

'Hello, Dean,' he greets casually, ignoring the swooping feeling in his stomach.

'Cas!' he exclaims. He sounds happy, and Castiel deflates so damn hard with relief. 'Didn't expect to see you, man. Home for Christmas, right?'

He nods, gaining the confidence he'd been lacking. 'Can I come in?'

'Yeah, sure,' Dean agrees, stepping back to let him into the hallway. He toes off his shoes and walks through into the lounge, sitting in the corner of the sofa, Dean close behind him.

He looks around, trying to see differences, signs of age, but the place hasn't changed a bit. It's weirdly comforting, but he shuffles in his seat awkwardly anyway. Everything has changed, and nothing has changed. It's kind of weird, but there have been a lot of weird things about going to college, and coming back, so he's not overly surprised anymore. Still, it's another one to add to the list.

'What's up?' Dean asks, sitting next to him. 'How're you doin'? College any good?'

'Everything is going well,' Castiel responds, trying to think of anything significant that's happened. 'My classes are enjoyable, the work load is manageable, my room mate is acceptable, there are no warrants for my arrest, I don't have malnutrition-'

Dean laughs, muttering 'good t'know'.

Castiel beams; he loves it when he goes out on a limb to make a joke and it's actually _funny_. 

'-I got a part-time job at the Starbucks on campus to try and save some money.' He hesitates, then grins. 'That is, until I got a tattoo.' It'd hurt like a bitch, but he'd wanted it for as long as he could remember, as long as he's known what the Enochian language _is_. He'd spoken about it with Dean a long time ago, but he's not expecting him to remember.

'The Enochian?' Dean sounds incredulous, excited even. Castiel nods, elated. 'You gotta show me,' he demands. Castiel stands up in front of him and lifts up his shirt, the sigil right there in thin black ink on his ribs. Dean gasps, running his fingers over the skin reverently, making Castiel jump just a little. 'It's gorgeous, Cas,' he says, awed. 'What's it mean, again?'

'It's for p-protection,' Castiel explains, stuttering through a shiver when Dean's fingers linger on a rib, tracing the ink, emerald eyes staring right up at him with a look so intense his cheeks begin to flush.

'S'beautiful,' Dean whispers, before slowly leaning in and replacing his fingers with his lips, pressing gentle kisses to the pale skin.

'Oh, _Dean_ ,' Castiel gasps appreciatively, still holding his shirt up as Dean's hands bracket his hips, pulling him in closer. 'I wasn't sure you'd want...' he trails off, not quite sure what he was trying to say.

'Why wouldn't I?' Dean shakes his head fondly, chuckling between kisses and tiny licks to his ribs, lips warm against his skin, making him practically mewl at the sudden affection. 'You look good, Cas,' he comments idly, nosing against his ribs, trailing kisses to his bellybutton. He presses his face into Castiel's stomach, holding him there, nosing at the toned muscle. 'Fuck baby boy, it's been _forever_ ,' he whispers, looking up at Castiel again. 'You gonna take your shirt off and come sit on my lap?'

Castiel nods and moves quickly, dropping his shirt to the floor and straddling Dean on the sofa. He holds Dean's cheeks in his hands and leans down to kiss him, Dean's big hands snaking up his slender sides.

The taste in Dean's mouth is intoxicating, sugar-sweet on Castiel's tongue. He moans appreciatively, deepening the kiss, enjoying the slide of Dean's lips against his. Dean bites down on his bottom lip, catching it between his teeth before letting it go and licking over the sore spot, eliciting a gasp. Castiel feels Dean's lips stretch against his own when he smiles, making him smile back instinctively.

The moment is sweet, tender, until Dean rocks up into him and drags Castiel back down to earth. He's so hard in his stupid too-tight jeans, and Dean's the same, rocking up into him needily. They break away from one another, foreheads touching; a shiver running up his spine when Dean looks like he wants to devour him.

'You been a good boy for me, Cas?' he rasps, voice low and dirty.

'Yes Daddy,' Castiel replies sweetly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his temple.

Dean reaches up to Castiel's lips, stroking across the soft, damp skin where he'd been kissed almost raw. 'Have you let anyone else in your mouth?'

Castiel stills. He wasn't sure Dean was going to ask him about this, but he isn't going to lie. They'd made no promises, but still, he doesn't want Dean to freak, to throw him out. Eventually, he lands on the truth in a quiet admittance.

'Yes, Daddy,' he whispers. One of Dean's hands sharply smacks his ass, the bite of pain and resultant squeeze of Dean's fingers around the globe of flesh tearing a moan of surprise out of him.

'Dirty little boy,' Dean growls, but it sounds like it's turning him on more than it's making him angry. Castiel writhes in his lap, blushing and biting his lip. Dean's hand lets go of his ass, fingers travelling to the seam of his jeans and pushing against his hole. Castiel lets out a quiet, breathy moan, dropping his head to Dean's shoulder. 'Did you let the boys at school fuck you, too?'

'No, Daddy,' he insists, biting his lip at the way Dean's muscles are flexing under his shirt as his arm moves. 'Just you, only ever been you.'

'Good,' Dean's response is curt, immediate, _possessive_. Castiel glances up, eyes searching his. Dean smirks, a winning smile, cutting the moment short by capturing Castiel's lips in another soul-destroying, mind-blowing kiss.

Gradually, Dean moves Castiel to the side of him and stands up. He grabs Castiel's wrists and pins them to the back of the sofa, leaning in to kiss him again, closing him in with his body. The position is uncomfortable, Castiel slouched with his wrists pinned high, but he doesn't care, moaning and writhing underneath Dean, lithe, slender body needy and wanting.

'Roll over, baby,' Dean tells him. Castiel does, biting his lip and reaching for his fly. Dean wastes no time in tugging off his jeans and his boxers all at once, leaving him naked and exposed, kneeling up with Dean stood right behind him.

He folds his arms on the back of the sofa, resting his forehead on them and tries to relax. It's been a while and he knows, even if Dean is careful, the stretch will smart at best. He hears Dean working behind him, undoing his pants, expecting a finger, expecting the stretch.

What he _doesn't_ expect is Dean's palms on the soft skin of his ass, pulling him apart, or the way his breath ghosts between his thighs, behind his balls, the soft kisses up to his hole and his _tongue_ licking flat and broad swipes over the tight, puckered skin.

Castiel shouts in surprise, moaning and canting his hips back, eager and willing. Nobody's ever done this to him before, fuck fuck _fuck_ , it feels incredible. Dean takes his time, teasing him without even trying to open him up, making him savour and enjoy the electric pulses going straight from his ass to his cock. It's dirty, hot and wet, so damn sweet; when Dean moans his tongue vibrates and Castiel almost loses it there and then. He looks back to see Dean with one hand wrapped around himself, gorgeous and so fucking shameless, all because of him. 

It isn't enough anymore, he wants the stretch, all loosened up like this, wants what he's spent so many nights thinking about, fingering himself in his college dorm.

'Fuck me,' he begs, biting his lip, eyes round. He'll play the innocent card if he has to, it gets Dean every time. 'Daddy _please_.'

'God, yeah,' Dean agrees. 'Uh, the lube's in the bathroom, I'll just-'

'My coat,' Castiel interrupts hurriedly; his coat is so much closer than the bathroom and he needs Dean in him _now_.

Dean laughs, muttering something about it being good to be prepared, but goes to it anyway, fishing through his overcoat for a couple of sachets of lube and a condom.

The first press of a lubed finger inside Castiel makes him jolt and groan. Sure, he's fingered himself fairly recently, but it's been so long since anyone else has done this. Well, it's been so long since _Dean_ has done this, since he hasn't let anyone else.

'D'you like that?' Dean asks, voice rough and breathy. 

He must look obscene, legs spread, practically virginal ass dripping with spit and lube, one of Dean's fingers stretching it open, but _fuck yeah_ it feels good. Dean adds another and lets Castiel get used to the stretch, only adding a third when he rocks his hips back and pointedly requests it. 'We're not going to live forever, Dean,' he snips around a smile.

The sound of the condom being rolled on makes Castiel's toes curl in anticipation. This is the worst part, the waiting. It always feels like it's way too long until the blunt head of Dean's cock is pushed against his hole. He bites his lip when he feels it, can feel Dean lean forward a little, Castiel leaning back into him, tilting his hips just right-.

They moan in unison when the head of Dean's cock finally slides in. All the breath is rushed out of Castiel's lungs in an instant. 'God Cas, fuck, you're so tight,' Dean groans, rocking forward inch by inch. Minutes later, when he bottoms out, he lets out a breath and asks gently 'you good?'

'Uh-huh,' Castiel gasps, wriggling a little, willing his body to just fucking relax and get used to this already, because once it does he knows it's going to feel amazing. 'S'just... Been a while.'

'So gorgeous, baby,' Dean soothes, keeping as still as he can even though Castiel can practically feel him itching to move. 'So beautiful, missed you, missed this.' The words are quiet, so quiet, but they kickstart something inside Castiel into action. 

'Me too,' he rasps, rocking forward and shoving back onto Dean's cock. He needs to show Dean how much, how long, how fucking bad he's missed this, all of this, doesn't care what it means, he just wants to give himself over, right here, right now, while he can.

Dean takes the hint and pulls out almost all the way before rolling back into Castiel, the slide burning for the first few thrusts before pain gives way to perfect, endless fucking _pleasure_. He moans with it, gasps with it, thrusting back onto Dean in earnest. 

'Gonna show you how your Daddy's better than all the boys at school, Cas,' Dean grunts, hips snapping over and over, powerful and hungry.

'I already know that. Love riding your cock,' Castiel drawls, dirty talk spilling from his lips because he knows it drives Dean _wild_. 'I could ride it all day. Fill me up good, don't you Daddy?'

Castiel doesn't get a verbal answer but he knows Dean's getting close already, kicking up the speed a couple of notches, pounding into him. It feels incredible, like Castiel's whole body is on fire and he never wants it to stop, warm feeling spreading through him, up behind his ears, down his arms, pooling like molten gold in his belly and fuck, he's close too, Dean's found that spot, that spot that feels _so fucking good_ when he tilts his hips just right and it's relentless, the slapping of skin against skin, grunting and cursing and moaning, it's fucking Heaven.

'Touch yourself, baby,' Dean grits out, just barely. 'Wanna watch you come for me.' Castiel bites his lip, wrapping his slim fingers around his cock, the relief hitting him so strong his back arches. His hand is familiar, he knows just what to do, where to touch, thinking about all the times he's done this thinking of Dean, thinking of what he wanted Dean to do to him, now he's back here, and Dean's inside of him and-

'Oh fuck _Daddy_ ,' he whines, his balls drawing up, hand flying over his cock.

'Good boy, my good boy,' Dean praises, his hips stuttering as he watches Castiel squeeze his eyes shut, mouth open in a silent cry as he comes all over his own hand.

Dean fucks him through his orgasm, jolts of electricity coursing through his veins with every thrust. He's over-sensitive and raw but there's no way he's letting up, not with those noises pouring out of Dean's mouth. He's close, so fucking close; Castiel uses all the strength left in his muscles to clench down around Dean, meet his thrusts, whimpering gasps falling from his lips.

'Fuck, Christ, _fuck Cas_ yeah,' Dean babbles, head tilted back, long, slender neck sheening with sweat. 'Gonna make me come, Cas, _shit_.' Dean's hips stutter and thrust deep into him, his fingers bruising into Castiel's hips, holding him in place. 

When Dean comes, Castiel can feel him spilling out inside of him and he moans appreciatively, rocking his hips, just a little, to tease the aftershocks out of him. Dean's fingers press harder, a silent warning, laughing fondly.

Sat on the couch twenty minutes later, clothes mostly back on, wrapped up and kissing between conversations, Castiel lets himself accept the fact that in the figurative sense of the term, hell, in every damn sense of the term, he is so, so screwed.


	2. Mr. Winchester, Sir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel bumps into Dean while he's out shopping for groceries with his mother, when not two weeks ago he'd had Dean inside him, begging his Daddy to make him come. Just when he thinks he couldn't be more embarrassed in Walmart, he is, and he only has himself to blame.
> 
> Though it leaves him wanting to see Dean again so _fucking badly_.

It's a cold Saturday morning the day Castiel is roped into going for groceries with his mother. The January air is fresh and all the stores are just starting to pull down their 'Happy New Year!' signs. He reasons to himself that she could do with the help, since Michael's gone back to Washington already, Lucifer is useless and Gabriel would just sneak candy into the cart. His arm had been twisted, a little more forcefully than necessary, perhaps, but twisted nonetheless.

There's a voice in the back of his head telling him that he should enjoy this time with his mother, especially since he's not around much anymore. 

The store isn't very busy and he there are wafts of fresh bread smell coming from the bakery section. Gabriel will be annoyed as hell if Castiel doesn't mention he wants more self-raising flour, but then Castiel might just 'forget' because Gabriel's a dick.

His mother spends half her time bumping into people she knows, most of them from her church group, whilst he follows dutifully behind her with the cart. She likes talking to people a lot more than Castiel had realised. 

Whether she gets lonely or not now all her sons have flown the nest, Castiel isn't sure. He hasn't seen either his mother or his father show affection towards one another since, well, maybe ever. If he hadn't been 'swayed by the temptations of biology' (or, in layman's term's, understood _science_ ), he might well have believed the story that he and his brothers had been hand-delivered to his parents from God that his mother had always told them.

One kid from God would have been a miracle, but four? Holy heck in a handbasket; God needed to find better hobbies than making more Novaks.

He's pushing the cart round the corner of one of the aisles, zoning out of what his mother is muttering about – pizza toppings, maybe? - cynically noting that now he understands why his father loves being at work so much, when he sees a very familiar face stand out from the crowd, coming from the other direction.

His heart stops there and then. This cannot be happening. This _cannot be happening_.

'Good afternoon Mrs. Novak,' Dean fucking Winchester greets around a wide smile, coming over to talk to them. 'How's the Ford?'

Oh God. Castiel is sure he's stopped breathing, his eyes wide in a silent plea. Oh God oh God oh _God_.

'Right as rain since you took a look at it, Mr. Winchester, thank you. My husband is ever so pleased.' His mom sounds grateful, completely unaware that right next to her, her youngest son is silently praying for the ground to _swallow him whole_.

Okay, so Castiel rethinks the whole 'swallow him whole' phrasing pretty quick because _now is not the time_. Shit. He stands awkwardly behind the cart, quickly discerning if he can make off to pick up the self-raising flour for Gabriel after all, somehow via the other end of the store.

'So, is this one of your sons?' Dean asks, gesturing at him. No such luck on the escape plan. He's all polite smiles and feigned curiosity. Fuck Dean Winchester and his Oscar-worthy acting. Then, because Castiel's brain has it in for him, he gets a wholly unwelcome flashback of writhing underneath Dean and calling him Daddy. He's going to _Hell_.

'Ah, yes, this is my youngest, Castiel,' his mother announces, hooking an arm around his shoulders, currently unaware of her son's boiling inner turmoil. 'He's home from Kansas State university for Christmas. A smart boy, this one, we're all very proud.' He feels like an awkward trophy, on display to Dean for all the wrong reasons.

'Hello, Castiel,' Dean deadpans, parroting the way in which he says hello, wrapping his lips around Castiel's full name to show off, _the bastard_.

'Hello, D-. Mr. Winchester,' he replies, stuttering over Dean's first name which he is totally _not supposed to know_. It's all awkward enough to make him seriously consider the benefits of just bolting and never looking back.

'Mr. Winchester here helped fix your father's car, good as new,' his mother tells him with pride. 'He's a very talented man,' she puffs up with happiness and oh _God_ is she _flirting_?

'Really, ma'am, it was nothing,' Dean negates, running his hand back through his hair. 'Helpin' people out is just somethin' for me to do with my hands durin' free weekends.'

'Do you only work with your hands, Mr. Winchester?' Castiel asks dryly; he can't help himself, he wants to make Dean feel how fucking awkward this is, because he's cool as a fucking cucumber and it's rubbing Castiel up the wrong way. His plan backfires when his mother seems to _understand_ the double entendre, or at least some of it, because when Dean lets out a barking laugh, it's at her appalled expression.

' _Castiel_! If that was a joke it wasn't funny,' she scolds him. 'You don't ask a person questions like that!' She turns to Dean, flustered and blushing. 'Honestly, you would think I dragged this boy up.' His mom sounds shocked, scandalised, but he doesn't care. Dean's face is amusement, happy, and something in his chest swells without his consent. 

'And it's Mr. Winchester _sir_ to you, boy. Have I shown you no manners?' she adds pointedly. He expects her to go on, but she stops, staring at him with this expectant look on her face he's seen her use on Luke a hundred times. His stomach drops a mile.

Oh no. No, no, fuck no. She really isn't going to make him _say it_ , is she?

The silence draws out between them, longer and more awkward by the second. His ears are hot and her gaze is boring into him, deadly like only a parent's can be. She's going to make him say it. He can't. He _can't_. They're in fucking _Walmart_.

He glances up at Dean and his eyebrows are raised, a shit-eating, all-knowing grin on his face, clearly expecting something. He isn't even going to cut Castiel a break by diffusing the situation, no, they're all going wait here in this awkward as all hell silence until he says it.

'Sorry. Mr. Winchester, _sir_ ,' Castiel corrects himself, mentally rearranging the items in the cart to distract from the feeling of hot embarrassment because he's _dying inside_. When he looks up, Dean's eyes are on him, gleaming with smouldering interest. He's _loving this_. God, he's such a jerk. A hot, ridiculously tempting, lickable fucking jerk. 

Castiel knows, he just knows, he is never going to hear the end of this. From either of them. 

'In my experience, Mrs. Novak, the smart ones always have smart mouths,' Dean sighs, making out like he's disappointed in the youth of today or something. Castiel's eyebrows shoot up, the blush on his face deepening even harder. He's not sure that's a compliment, was that a compliment?

His mother puts her hand over her eyes in despair. Castiel turns his attention back to Dean, watching the corner of his lips curl up into a smirk, a dark flash in his eyes, the kind he only gets when he's tied Castiel to something, or is pushing his mouth further down on his cock. It makes him squirm and bite his lip, suddenly too hot under the collar of his shirt.

'Well it was great seein' you again, Mrs. Novak. Have a good day, won't you?' Dean adds silkily, to Castiel more than to his mother, and strolls off down the next aisle like nothing had happened. Lickable. _Jerk._

Castiel loves his mother, possibly more than that he respects her, but even he has to admit that – for the rest of that day – she's a total bitch. She punishes him like he's _five_ for how he'd talked to Dean, telling him that he's embarrassed her with his 'wayward behaviour'. He diffuses his anger by bitterly snapping 'oh if you knew the truth, mother' at her a thousand times inside his head, but holds his tongue through some primal sense of self-preservation. She keeps talking about Dean like he's the Patron Saint of Kittens or something, just because he fixed his father's car at a reasonable price, and it's making him inwardly cringe _hard_.

So when they get home and she sternly tells him to go to his room because she's disappointed in him, he's happy enough to oblige just to get out of her way.

Behind the safety of his closed door, lying on his bed, with the privacy of his own space all around him, he lets himself think about what really happened today. The words Dean had used to tell Castiel he had a smart mouth, Christ, did Dean think about his mouth when Castiel was away? That secret, dirty look in his eyes, the undeniable spark of lust in those green irises, the way his lips curl when he smiles, when he's about to take all the control away from Castiel.

It's only been a couple of weeks, but he's itching to see Dean again.

He starts palming himself through his slacks before he even thinks about it too much, thinking about the way Dean's lips curl when he smiles with his mouth full of his cock, the strength of his hand when one joins his mouth, working him over and over. 

He gets up to lock the door and flops back on his bed, pushing his slacks round his knees and palming himself through his boxers before pushing those down too. He's half-hard and twisting his nipple when their positions switch up in his mind, Dean asking him if he understands what a naughty boy he's been, whether he's going to make it up to him, whether he's going to be Dean's good little boy from now on, making reply 'yes, Daddy' to _everything_.

When he's close, really close, a thought rises in the back of his mind that tells him 'no, leave it, let Dean do this _for_ you' and it's so strong and so loud he can't forget it, can't forget the idea of turning up at Dean's house, even though walking there with a boner will hurt like hell, turning up and watching Dean's control crack under the pressure of wanting to fuck him. Maybe he will, maybe Dean's going to drill into him with everything he has, because he's been such a _naughty little boy_.

He lets go of his dick like it's burning him, convinced if he touches himself for another ten seconds he'll come his brains out, and springs into action. He pulls his boxers and slacks up all in one go and skips off his bed, grabbing his coat and unlocking the door, tumbling down the stairs two at a time.

'Just where do you think you're going, Castiel?' his mother intercepts when he has only one shoe on. 'I told you to go to your room.'

'Mother,' Castiel sighs, exasperated. He does _not_ have time for this. 'I am nineteen years old and spend a great deal of time away from this house. I do not need you to punish me, I am responsible for my own actions.' He uses her stunned silence to shove on his other shoe and leaves the house before she can argue back.

Walking to Dean's house, he belatedly realises that walking double speed with his dick still hard and jerking between his legs, though covered by his coat, maybe wasn't the best idea; not only is it making him feel awkward as hell, it's also starting to lose interest with every step, but he _has_ to keep going. Dean's place isn't far. He checks to see that neither of his parents are following him in their righteous indignation, but they're not. Thank God.

He rounds the corner to Dean's street and ups the speed double time, knocking on his door with insistence. He slouches against the door frame, cheeks flushed, hair dishevelled. His dick has mostly lost interest in the confinement of his boxers by now, but he has a sneaking suspicion they won't be on much longer.

Dean opens the door, takes one look at him and smirks. 'Get inside,' he orders, tone authoritative and unmistakeable. Castiel obeys, but before he can get his shoes off Dean takes his arm and frog marches him through to the kitchen. Castiel blinks, confused, but then Dean tugs his coat from his shoulders, kissing him to loosen him up, to show him that this is play, and then bends him over the kitchen table.

'Unzip your jeans, Cas,' Dean orders, running his fingers through Castiel's soft, dark hair and pushing to keep his head down when he tries to stand. He wriggles his hands underneath himself and, with difficulty, does as he's told, making soft, grunting noises with the effort. 'Now pull 'em down. Your underwear, too.' It takes a lot more effort than he would have expected, but he pushes them down as far as he can, focusing on Dean's warm hand in his hair, the chill of the hard table against his bare skin.

In the cool air, Dean takes his cock in hand and strokes it, making him hiss. It's so fucking intense, having left himself wanting earlier and Dean fucking knows it. 'Did you touch yourself before coming over here?' Dean asks, hand stilling and squeezing gently.

'Yes,' Castiel admits, ears growing hot. Dean drops his cock and smacks his ass, hard, making him cry out in surprise. His whole body jolts, globe of his ass wobbling with the impact.

'Yes, what?' Dean prompts. Castiel was right, of course he was right, he's always fucking right.

'Yes, _sir_ ,' he drawls, doing his best to sound like he's putting it on. He wants Dean to lose control, to show him some fucking feeling. Dean's hand grasps his hair as he lands another smack, little thrills of excitement shooting through Castiel; he's winning.

'You're such a rude little boy, Cas,' Dean snaps. 'I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson.' With that, he lashes two more spanks to his ass, pearly white flesh burning hot and starting to sting.

'Yes, sir,' Castiel chokes out, squirming just a little as two more slaps, one on each cheek, make him cry out in pain. It's a weird kind of pain, and fuck, he _likes it_.

Dean chuckles. 'So eager to please now, are we?' Two more slaps. 'After talking to me like that earlier, too. Tsk tsk.' Three more slaps, quick and hard. A whine slips out Castiel's mouth unchecked, it stings so fucking bad and his cock is _throbbing_. 'You _know_ what I can do with my hands, Cas,' Dean reminds him. Two more slaps and Castiel is shouting now, almost out of it enough to think the noise is coming from someone else. 'I nearly had to put my shopping away and come home, y'know that? Just to use my hands on myself, because of you. Are you proud of yourself?'

'Yes, sir,' Castiel admits, a broken laugh shocked out of him when Dean spanks him even harder. He _is_ fucking proud of himself, but he's being punished and he wants to keep Dean sweet.

'No, sir,' he corrects, writhing in place. 'Sorry, sir.'

'Are you going to be a good boy now, Cas?' Dean taunts, resting his palm so lightly against the raw skin of his ass. He runs a thumb over the skin, pushing into it slightly, making Castiel cry out. 'Ooh, baby, your ass looks so sore. Do you want me to keep going?'

'No, please,' Castiel begs. 'Sir!' He shouts quickly, feeling the cool breeze against his ass when Dean pulls his hand back again.

Dean leans in, whispering in his ear. 'Do you want to come?'

Castiel sucks in a breath, eyes wide because he didn't think Dean would let him and _yes_ , yes he really fucking does.

'Yes, sir,' he admits.

'I thought so,' Dean replies, tone suddenly light and conversational. 'Your cock is dripping onto my kitchen floor.'

'Sorry, sir,' Castiel gasps as he hears Dean unzip his pants and move to stand behind him.

'Should I make you lick it up when you're done, huh?' Dean ponders aloud, rolling his hips against his sore ass. Castiel gasps, Dean is so, so hard and the skin of his ass is so sensitive he can feel fucking _everything_ ; the way Dean's cock is throbbing against his too-hot skin, the bead of precome left when he swipes the head of his cock between his cheeks. 'Whaddya think, Cas? Should I make you lick your come off my kitchen floor?'

'No, sir. Please, sir,' Castiel whines. As hot as licking his come off of Dean is, licking it off the kitchen floor is still kind of gross.

Dean chuckles. 'You have a minute to come, Cas,' he tells him, reaching around and wrapping a hand firmly round his cock. 'Any longer and you'll be cleaning my floor with your mouth. Understand?'

Castiel nods, moaning in surprise when the hot drag of Dean's fingers curled around his dick shoots sparks of pleasure fucking _everywhere_. He's not going to need a minute, shit he's not going to need thirty seconds. His orgasm builds quickly, so powerful it feels like he's full of lightening and hits him like a fucking freight train. He screams Dean's name until his throat is hoarse, face pushed into the tabletop, Dean's hand back in his hair. 

His legs are weak and he's not sure whether he slips off the table and falls to the floor or he's pushed there, but he twists and looks up at Dean. The only things he wants to see in the world right now are _right there_ : the blissful expression he has on his face, his hand flying over his cock in Castiel's eye line; he opens his mouth instinctively in an act of submission, Dean coming in his mouth and over his lips a second later with a low, guttural moan.

Castiel swallows and whispers 'thank you, sir,' smirking when Dean curses loudly. He's just about to pull himself up on his knees to press his face into Dean's stomach when his coat starts to buzz, followed by a sound that's annoyingly like his ringtone.

'Uh, I think someone wants you,' Dean says, panting, coming down from his orgasm. Castiel sighs, too weak to stand and take the call elsewhere, every movement sends weak shoots of pain down his thighs. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and sighs, swearing quietly. He has to pick up.

Dean doesn't know who it is right away, but he can guess from the way Cas' voice begins to sound increasingly annoyed. 'Oh. I'm fine. If you'd just listen-. No. Okay. _Fine_. Bye, mother.' He feels kind of guilty for a moment, wondering if he'd touched on a raw nerve with Cas' mom earlier. 

Castiel sighs and tries to struggle to his feet. Once successful, he gratefully takes the glass of water Dean offers him and sighs 'I have to leave, Dean, I'm sorry.' Dean shakes his head, smiling, trying to reassure him that it's okay. Castiel feels nothing but resentment for his mother as he sips the water, leaning against the kitchen table.

Shortly after he's dressed and kissing Dean at the front door. He wants nothing more than to stay; he hasn't even left yet and already regrets it, but he tries to keep a casual expression on his face to avoid making Dean worried. 

'See you soon, Cas,' Dean shrugs when he reaches for the door, his tone light. For a second, Castiel considers that it sounds a little forced, but he's probably just making it up in his head or something.

'Soon,' he agrees easily. 

The walk home is torture. His ass stings like a bitch and his cock is over-sensitive, even against the soft fabric of his boxer shorts, his whole body protesting movement. At least, by the time he gets home, he can blame the flush in his cheeks on the cold weather and walking quickly.

His mother is in the lounge, staring at the door, waiting for him. He's tired and really doesn't need this.

'Charlie came round, asking for you,' she starts, tone heavy with meaning. 'She said she hasn't seen you since you left for college in the fall.' Castiel grimaces. Fuck. 'Where have you been, Castiel?'

He knows that lying to his mother was probably not the best idea, but then telling her the truth would have been a whole lot worse. More than that, she's talking to him like he's still a kid, like he can be punished and reprimanded and she'll stop him eating candy for a month or something. 

He sighs, exasperated, trying to keep a little patience, knowing it's because he's the youngest and she's already lost control of his brothers. He's tired of taking their weight, so fucking tired of it.

'Out,' he answers eventually.

' _Where_?' she snaps back.

'I don't have to explain myself to you!' Castiel shouts, anger bursting through. Letting Dean take control of him had been just what he needed, but it wasn't enough to stop _this_. This anger, this resentment, it's been building for _years_ , accentuated by the freedom he's gotten from going to college. 'Why do you treat me this way? You would never say any of these things to Michael, Lucifer or Gabriel! Why me?'

'Michael has a car, Castiel,' she retorts, like he's missing the whole point. He blinks. What does that have to do with anything? 'Lucifer knows martial arts and Gabriel-' she pauses, her resolve faltering just for a second, but he sees it '-always has company.' What she means is, Gabriel's always being picked up by his idiot friends who change every three weeks, but she overlooks that because she's so far in denial it makes him crazy. 'You're putting yourself in danger, lying to me like this.' Castiel knows her too well, she's trying to guilt-trip him and it's not going to work, dammit. 

'I'm fine! I live on my own for nine months of the year and I'm _fine_ ,' he insists.

She inhales and stares him down, but he won't back down. He won't. 'Lying is a sin, Castiel,' she reminds him, voice flat and monotone.

Castiel sighs exasperatedly, knowing fine well that this argument is over. He turns to go to his room before she tells him to, just to get away from her. If she's going to quote from The Good Book, he may as well admit that he's lost. If his mother can do anything, it's recite passages from the Bible until she's blue in the face because she has no other argument of her own.

The only stand he can take against her is slamming his bedroom door and refusing to leave for the rest of the night.

The next few days are spent reluctantly visiting his aunt and uncle with his mother and father, a trip he'd totally forgotten about, and he's due to go back to Kansas State a couple of days after they all return to Lawrence. He doesn't think he's going to be able to see Dean again at all, to say sorry for having to leave again so soon, which makes him irrationally upset, but he smothers it as best he can. 

Until one afternoon, fortune smiles on him when his mother goes to meet her church group for someone's birthday and his poor father is roped into going with her. Castiel locks up the house almost as soon as they're gone and books it round to Dean's.

'Cas?' Dean states when he knocks at the door. He looks slightly uncomfortable, somehow, like the idea of Castiel turning up was something he just hadn't considered.

'Is it a bad time?' Castiel asks, suddenly nervous. Was Dean mad at him for bolting the other day? He hadn't seemed angry at the time. Castiel frowns, confused.

'No, come in,' Dean smiles, though it's not his usual smile, stepping back to let him past.

When they're in the lounge, Dean walks straight past him to grab a beer from the fridge. He asks Castiel if he wants one, but he declines, shaking his head. The last thing he needs is to antagonize his mother right now by going home smelling of booze.

'So, everything okay?' Dean hedges. Castiel shrugs, recalling the events after he'd left the other day with minimum affect. He had no embarrassment in recalling what Charlie had told his mother and how that'd put him well and truly in the shit. He'd assumed Dean would have inferred that he's been lying about where he's been during his visits to see him; it's a small community they live in. If anyone had found out, gossip would spread like wildfire.

The conversation that follows is pleasant on the surface, but there's something awkward and weird behind it. Dean begins to ask him a bunch of questions about college, what being at Kansas State is like, how big his classes are, what he's thinking of taking, and it throws Castiel off so hard from the intimate knowledge of Dean he has, that excitement for all things uniquely _them_ , that he's blindsided by this sudden interest in something else. Dean's asking him similar questions to the ones his aunt and uncle had asked, for fuck's sake.

More than that, though, Dean's questions seem pointed, filled with intent, and he keeps shifting, biting his lip when Castiel mentions something about college that bothers him, or that makes his life more awkward than he'd like.

Sure, there's still a spark between them, but Castiel finds himself waiting way too long for Dean to make the first move. He knows what he wants but Dean's always been the instigator, always been the one calling the shots and he doesn't know if he's comfortable switching that up when Dean's acting so peculiarly. It'll be a pretty long time before they see each other again, at least a few months, and Castiel wants to feel him, wants something to remember him by.

He wonders what the hell could be making Dean behave this way, but finds himself too shy to ask. Could Dean be growing bored with him? They've seen each other more times in the past week than they have in the past three months. 

The thought strikes him suddenly that maybe Dean actually _does_ have someone else. Castiel's chest tightens, hot with embarrassment and shame thinking that Dean could be cheating on someone with _him_.

The conversation lulls, Castiel too deep in thought to carry on talking, and for the first time in his life, he feels a little uncomfortable around Dean. He seems to sense it, somehow, reaching out and stroking the back of Castiel's neck, giving him a soft smile. It's a soothing, firm touch that makes Castiel relax, just a little, his body responding to the familiar affection without much thought. 

Dean leans in then and kisses him, soft and sweet, Castiel opening up to him instinctively. Their hands wander, skimming over clothing, stroking and caressing. Dean flicks one of his nipples under his shirt and he moans into Dean's mouth, arching up into his touch. Dean chuckles and lets his hand move lower, cupping Castiel's growing erection in his hand and massaging it gently.

There's a little voice in the back of his mind, questioning whether he should be doing this at all, but he's too selfish to stop. He isn't going to see Dean again until spring break and he wants this, a lot more fucking badly than he's prepared to admit. Dean's cologne is intoxicating, his breath warm against Castiel's neck as he unzips his pants. Castiel mimics the action, unzipping Dean's jeans and reaching inside to pull his cock free from his underwear, stroking it to full hardness.

Dean moans under the touch and Castiel gasps at the calloused fingers taking him in hand. They jerk each other off that way, side by side, kissing and moaning into each others' mouths, biting lips and panting encouragement to one another. It's nothing spectacular, but it's close and intimate, soft and gentle.

Castiel comes first, the way Dean alternates between his hand twisting around the head of his cock and stroking his length is just too much to handle. Dean keeps stroking him until he complains of over-sensitivity, then wipes his hand on his shirt and rests it on Castiel's side, pulling him closer as he pants against his mouth, whispering how good he is, how perfect he is, how much Dean loves to watch him come undone. He comes moments later and Castiel can't help but feel at least a little proud of himself, having this big, strong, gorgeous man be putty in his hands.

He doesn't know what it is, whether it's Dean's on-edge relieved smile the second he comes back to himself, or whether it's a strange, far away look in his eyes, but Castiel knows this time wasn't like before. This hasn't been like any of their times before and he just wants to get away.

'I have to go,' he tells Dean, once they've both tucked themselves back in their respective jeans. 'I still need to pack before I go back tomorrow.'

'Oh,' Dean bites his lip, flash of a crestfallen look flitting across his face, before it's gone again in the next second. 'Sure, man.'

Once they're at the door, Dean leans in to kiss him goodbye and Castiel lets him. It's sweet, long, tender, even, making Castiel's heart flutter at the same time as his stomach churns with anxiety. 'Be good,' Dean tells him softly, grinning a his own joke. Castiel lets out a soft laugh, nodding. 'An' don't do anything stupid.'

'I won't,' Castiel assures him quietly. 'Bye, Dean.' Walking out of that house is one of the most bittersweet of moments of his life, the post-orgasmic glow still thrumming through him, and he kind of hates it, but looking back to watch Dean wave and shut the door, he knows he did the right thing. He'd left before he'd gotten the chance to say anything stupid.

The next few months back at college go by pretty quickly for Castiel; there's the first talk of finals and deadlines he has to work for, his part-time job at Starbucks and he manages to make a couple of friends to hang out with during what little spare time he does have.

It isn't like he's forgotten about Dean, rather pushed him to the back of his mind. With a little time apart, a little space between them, Castiel manages to compartmentalize his feelings and realises that he was probably just being very stupid the last time they'd seen one another. It'd always been a casual thing between them; there was no evidence from Dean's end to suggest otherwise and Castiel is adamant that the next time they see one another he is _not_ going to fuck it up by being a paranoid idiot.

Which is why, when spring break rolls around, Castiel shows some self-restraint before going to see him, even though he won't deny wanting to from the very second he rolls back into town. Even when his resolve breaks, he takes his time before going over there, dolls himself up well, washing and shaving, wearing his nicest shirt and making himself look pretty.

Standing in front of his full-length mirror in his clean, fresh, good clothes, checking out his own ass, his skin, the way his hair is completely unmanageable and shooting himself a friendly smile, he figures he doesn't scrub up too bad.

Walking at double time to Dean's place is a chore and will probably leave him a little sweaty under the warm spring sun, but he doesn't let up the pace and figures Dean will probably give him a new thin layer of sweat to go on top of it. This thing he has with Dean is good, so good, easy and simple and Castiel is so fucking grateful to have him for what little time he does. 

Besides, he's thought about it and he'd be loathe to let anything like a relationship interfere with his college work anyway, so he takes what he can and tries to put his selfish desires for no-strings sex first. There are butterflies in his stomach and a laugh choked halfway down his throat as he resists the urge to run the last stretch of his journey, just happy that, finally, it feels like everything's sorting itself out for him.

He knocks at the door, stepping back and beaming up at it, waiting to see Dean's gorgeous face of surprise. Only, when the door opens, there's a woman standing there. She's maybe in her forties, and he startles, confused. He hadn't been expecting that. Could this be Dean's mother? He doubts very much that she's his girlfriend.

'Can I help you sweetie?' she asks, clearly as bewildered as he is.

'I'm looking for Dean?' he replies.

'Dean?' She thinks. 'Oh. Do you mean Dean Winchester?' He nods, smiling. 'He moved out, love, about a month ago or so.'

His face falls, stomach starting to twist itself up into knots. 'Oh. Do you know where he moved to?' he asks. It seems the logical thing to ask, he doesn't know what to think.

'Out of town, I'm told,' she says. There's a kindness to her tone that makes Castiel think he's not hiding his disappointment very well. 'I'm sorry I can't be more help than that.'

'That's okay,' he replies, turning away, determinedly staring at the ground. 'Thank you, ma'am,' he adds politely. His voice sounds hollow and forced, the steps he takes away from Dean's house – Dean's _old_ house – heavy and unfeeling. He walks, on autopilot, back through these same familiar streets, down the road he used to take to school, past the library he pointedly doesn't look at, into an estate, past the next row of houses and down the road to his house. He doesn't think, doesn't want to, doesn't believe.

'You're home early,' Gabriel remarks as he walks in the door of his house. 'Charlie not up for sucking you off today?'

'Fuck off, Gabriel,' Castiel snaps without even looking at him, taking the stairs two at a time to his bedroom.

Only when he lies on his bed, staring at his white ceiling, pinpricks in his eyes, does he realise what's happened. Dean's gone. He's gone and there's no way for Castiel to reach him. When he'd said bye, that stupid, bittersweet goodbye he'd said months ago, when he'd come home early because he'd been so fucking _ridiculous_ , that was the last goodbye they'll ever say to one another. The worst thing is, he can't even remember what Dean had said, his words had just washed over Castiel, made him feel safe, made him smile like they almost always, always had.

He curls up, the pain in his stomach and his chest too much to bear, too vulnerable lying on his back, and lets himself cry. He's missed Dean so much, hasn't let himself admit how much until now, and he's going to miss Dean like this for the rest of his life.

He doesn't leave his room for dinner, doesn't leave his room when Gabriel tells him that a new episode of his favourite show is on TV, won't leave his room for anything. Silently, he cries, drifting in and out of exhausted sleep, hugging his pillow tightly to his chest.

Staring at the same spot for almost an hour, his eyes burn with tears again, the stark, horrible realisation that this is it between him and Dean. All the moments they've shared, meeting in the library, making out in the Impala, bumping into him at the grocery store and all the time they'd spent together in his house, this is it. 

It's all over.


	3. Strange Case of the Professor and Dean Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dean gone, Castiel goes back to college, determined to get the hell out of Lawrence. He's downright miserable, until the start of his second year gives him a complete surprise.

Castiel packs up for college a week earlier than he'd planned to, intent on getting as far out of Lawrence as he can, as fast as he can. Everything reminds him of Dean. All the streets between their houses, his Dad's car, even _Walmart_. It hurts like hell. 

Much to his amazement, his parents actually notice something's not right with him. He barely eats, is awake all hours of the night, asleep all hours of the day and never leaves the house. Instead of being good, decent parents, they advise him to take solace in passages from The Good Book and let the Lord sort out his problems. Castiel doesn't particularly believe God is planning to come down to Earth and find Dean Winchester for him, and there's nothing left for him here. 

So he leaves and doesn't look back.

Back in his dorm room, he loses a part of himself ruminating the knowledge Dean could be anywhere, maybe doesn't even want to be found. Hell, he could have left the country, far away from Lawrence by now, and all its haunting memories. Lying awake at night, alone in his dorm, Castiel admits to himself that he cares a lot more than he ever, ever thought he would have. It makes his gut wretch and his stomach drop to think about the times he and Dean have spent together, and his chest aches as soon as he tries to remember Dean's smiling face.

He cries himself to sleep drunk most nights for the first couple of weeks of term, so irrationally angry for not being honest with himself. He'd liked Dean, shit, he'd _really_ liked him. He should have said something, should have asked him how he felt. Even if he'd be shot down, he should have given Dean a goddamn _chance_. He grits his teeth, holding his breath as tears roll back down his face, pooling in his ears, before biting his pillow in pure, devastated fury, chest heaving with uncontrollable sobs of regret. 

His roommate, Chuck, has taken to sleeping in a friend's dorm, but he can't bring himself to care. He wants to be alone, has to be alone. 

More than anything, he hates himself for being such a coward. God, why hadn't he _said something_? The idea of Dean being with anyone else had torn him up inside, it still does, and he hadn't said anything. Not one word. Then Dean had left, without knowing Castiel cared at all. He probably figured Castiel doesn't care much, turning up on the doorstep of a stranger's house to find him gone. He'd made it seem like he only wanted Dean for sex-

'Oh God,' he chokes, talking to no-one, hand running through his hair, stark realisation sinking in fast and hard. 'It's all my fault.'

~*~

There's only so long he can cry before it starts affecting everything. He almost loses his job at Starbucks because he sleeps through half his shift, his grades are slipping, he walks around campus every day keeping his eyes on the ground and his shoulders hunched over, scared that if he doesn't accept what's happened, he'll end up going under, but he can't help how he feels.

That is until one day, the first hot day of the year, when the sky is bright blue and there are no clouds in sight. Sat on the soft grass outside his lecture hall, he resolves to learn from this, instead of letting it kill him. He makes an astute promise to never do that to himself again, to never lie to himself like that, just because his feelings terrify him. Then, eventually, he'll accept what's happened and get over it. Shakily, he makes a mental list of things he has to do to right this. It's going to be hard, but he can do it. He has to.

He starts with Chuck, who smiles and gives him an awkward hug when he apologises, moving his stuff back in the very same day.

He's going to be fine.

~*~

Whether it's his new-found resolve not to lie to himself anymore, or a really terrible week he has, or a combustible mix of both, he winds up being over-confident and reckless, figures he's got nothing to lose. He's sure of this, so sure, until his mother calls him one afternoon, during his last class of the day. He curses quietly to himself as soon as he sees the missed call, returning it on the way back to his dorm.

The ensuing conversation does not go well.

'Your brothers are all bringing their girlfriends home during summer, Castiel,' his mother snips on the other end of the phone, making him feel like another box to be ticked off her list. 'Is there a future wife I should meet? You're so secretive, I never know.'

'No, mother,' Castiel intones, phone between his shoulder and his ear, books under one arm, unlocking the door to his dorm room with the other hand. 'I'm married to my schoolwork,' he sighs dramatically.

Inside, Chuck is curled up in his desk chair typing furiously on his laptop. He smiles up at Castiel when he walks in, instead of grimacing and making moves to leave, so that's an improvement.

'You really should think about finding a woman, Castiel,' his mother scolds down the crackly line. 'You're not going to be young forever and it'll be your wife's duty to carry your children. You're not to forget about that in pursuit of your schoolwork, you understand?'

He sighs again, pressing the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb in exasperation. 'I strongly believe I am too young to find a wife, mother,' he insists, grinning when Chuck's eyes bug out at him in abject horror.

'Listen to your mother, Castiel. It will happen, and if it happens when it is too late, then you'll only have yourself to blame,' she lectures him. Sometimes it feels like she's struggling to regain a semblance of control over him, but he won't let it happen.

Castiel almost growls in frustration. He's so bored of this. So, so bored. So he figures, what the hell, no more lying, and also, _fuck it_.

'I won't be bringing a wife home, mother,' he takes a deep breath. 'Ever. I'm... Gay.'

There's a long pause on the other end of the line. He shuffles, glancing at Chuck who's staring at him like he's car crash TV and he just can't look away.

When he hears his mother's voice, it's hollow and unfeeling. 'That isn't funny, Castiel.'

'It isn't a joke,' he states, confused. Why would he joke about that? 'It's who I am. I-'

The dial tone sounds loudly in his ear. He stares at the phone, blinking in disbelief. She'd hung up on him.

'Well,' Castiel snaps at the phone. 'That went _well_.'

'Guess it won't be so bad, what with you being all the way out here?' Chuck offers. Of what little Chuck knows of Castiel's family, he knows his parents are devout Catholics and that probably wasn't on the list of things they wanted to hear from the mouth of their youngest son.

Castiel swallows. He really should have been a little more tactical. Of course, he's thought about it for years, and though hadn't exactly expected his mother to begin singing Ode to Joy, he's kind of disappointed she just hung up on him like that since he'd always been taught it was the height of bad manners. 'Yeah,' he shrugs, flopping down on his bed, hot dread and anxiety worming its way through him. 'Yeah, you're probably right.'

Two hours later, Castiel is convinced Chuck is so wrong that he may never have been right about anything in the history of the universe.

His father calls to politely tell him that he's a disgrace to the family name, that he's destroyed his mother and that he's not welcome back in the family home, so he'd better find somewhere to stay during summer break. Consequently, Castiel invents a string of curse words in a very short amount of time whilst alternating between frantically looking up cheap accommodation and pacing his dorm room, doped up on coffee and freaking Chuck out. 

He tries really damn hard to ignore the voice somewhere at the back of his mind telling him that he has essays to write on top of finding somewhere to live and there's no way he'll be able to manage it all alone. Everything has gone so wrong so fast it makes him almost dizzy.

Going to sleep that night is rough, stomach hollow with the knowledge that he's lost almost everything. He's lost Dean, his family, his childhood home; all he has left now is college. Still, he finds himself cynically wondering what he's really lost. His parents have provided for him, looked after him, fed him and clothed him, sure, but they were never there for him the way parents are supposed to be, when their children need them most. From the age of twelve, they hadn't known their son; Castiel had been forced to live a lie until he couldn't take it anymore. If his parents are so disgusted with him that he's no longer a part of the family, then so be it, at least he can be himself now. As for Dean, if he'd cared for Castiel in the same way Castiel cares about him, he would have had the guts to say something, he's _Dean Winchester_ for God's sake. But he hadn't, he'd just left. 

Castiel tries to console himself as best he can, even if that involves telling himself white lies to fall asleep at night. The last thing he thinks before falling asleep is the strange acceptance that he has no longer has any reason to go back to Lawrence. 

The weird thing is, instead of being a burden, he feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

~*~

The morning after Doomsday, Castiel is woken up by his phone buzzing insistently on the night stand.

'Hello, baby brother. How's life in that pile of crap you're swimming in?' Gabriel asks fondly when Castiel picks up the call.

'Fuck off Gabriel,' Castiel mumbles in reply, voice sleep-rough. He's not in the mood for his brother right now. 'Are you going to disown me, too?'

'On the contrary,' Gabriel sounds insulted, like Castiel has somehow offended his better sensibilities. 'Michelle, Lucy and I had a pow-wow over Skype and midnight snacks last night after mom blew up at each one of us in turn, convinced we've exposed you to gay porn as a child – thank you for that by the way – and, we've decided and, well, I drew the short straw so I'm calling to tell you that, y'know, mom and dad are jerks, the world has moved on, yadda yadda yadda, we still love you and all that.'

He sounds awkward as heck, but Castiel can tell he's sincere. When he tries to say something in reply, his voice croaks, catching a lump in his throat he hadn't realised was there. 'Thank you, Gabriel,' he chokes. 'You have no idea how much that means to me.'

'Yeah, shut up,' Gabriel quips. 'We'll come visit you over summer. If you need anything just-. I don't know. Call Michael. He's the only one that can help.'

'I believe that,' Castiel says, grinning. 

'Well, I gotta go baby bro. I'm filming a scene of Casa Erotica in an hour and this conversation is making me limp as a jellyfish. Sayonara!' and just like that, Gabriel hangs up.

Castiel stares at the phone, grinning, not even bothering to wonder whether his brother is telling the truth or not (he wouldn't put anything past him). His brothers may be dicks, but right now he loves them completely.

~*~

After the dust settles, Castiel knuckles down to concentrate on his finals, arguably more important now than ever. He really has to work to his best if he's going to make anything of himself, get by on his own. Bucking down to almost constant studying pays off, after months of repeated essays and sleepless nights he does well, sailing into second year with top grades and his professors proud of him.

Summer is pretty disappointing, all things considered. After two weeks of constant online searching, he manages to find a local shitty motel willing to let him live there if he ears his keep. So he keeps himself busy through summer break, paying his way and working full time at the motel to exhaustion – his job in Starbucks terminated for the summer while there are no students - ploughing through his second year reading list in his spare time and working to get the KS LGBTQA society on its feet. He barely gives himself enough time to think, and that's how he likes it.

On the rare occasion he does get a moment to himself, he thinks of Dean less often than he used to, repressing all thoughts of him and pushing them to the back of his mind. Though he still feels the loss even when he's not thinking about him, a nameless pain deep in his chest. 

Castiel's lack of family, lack of anyone close to him, makes him realise how much he needs to be loved, cherished and cared for. He accepts that it isn't in him to be able to deal with casual relationships that exceed a one night stand, because time after time he knows he'll get attached and end up where he is now, forcing thoughts of someone out of his mind just to deal with getting through the day.

He makes a conscious effort not to let himself get upset when he realises he can't remember exactly what Dean looks like anymore, and carries on.

~*~

By the time summer break comes to a close and he's living back on campus, ready to take on second year, he accepts that he feels like he and Dean broke up, even if they never were together in the first place. 

He remembers crying on his bed, alienating Chuck, coming out to his mother, and all of it seems like such a long time ago now. He's almost a different person. Older, wiser, he hopes, and - he guesses - happier. He just hopes that, wherever Dean is, he's happy too.

The class he's most excited about taking this year is Queer Theory in English Literature. He'd signed himself up for it as soon as it had been mentioned halfway through last semester. He's already read all the novels they're going to cover, even made preliminary notes on them, and is looking forward to learning the material.

~*~

It's a pretty small class, first thing on a Tuesday morning and Castiel gets there early, taking his customary seat up at the back of the auditorium where he can see over everybody's heads. Students begin to file in minutes after him and when the clock strikes nine am, he pulls out his notepad and writes the date and class title at the top of the page, making it look official, underlining it with a ruler. He doodles accents near the Q and T of Queer Theory, only vaguely aware that the hustle and bustle of his fellow students is dimming. He doesn't even bother to look up.

'Sit down,' the professor barks as he walks in, the sound of his feet reverberating through the hall, but there's something light and friendly in his tone. 'Shut up. I'm not used to wakin' up this damn early yet. Don't test me.'

Castiel frowns at his page. He knows that voice. Looking up, he feels like his eyes are going to pop out of his head, or he's going to throw up, or the walls are going to come crumbling down, but none of that happens. All Castiel does is gasp. Loudly.

'My name is Professor Dean Winchester,' he tells the class, writing his name on the board at the front. 'I'm gonna be taking you for Queer Theory this semester. If you've got any questions, keep 'em 'til the end of the class, 'cause we're runnin' through the fundamentals today and they're absolutely fundamental.'

The professor grins at his own joke but doesn't get so much as a peep out of anyone else. Castiel, on the other hand, because he's a loser and that's the first time he's seen Dean smile in almost a year, lets out a completely involuntary audible squeak of indignant shock. 

The professor's eyes flash to him and widen, just for a moment, before he gathers himself and tears his gaze away and launches into what Queer Theory is in full gusto.

Meanwhile, Castiel can only think one simple word:

 _What_? 

He's floored. Of all the things he could have possibly expected to happen, this was _not it_. Is his life a romantic comedy? Christ. 

Instead of paying any attention to Professor Winchester whatsoever, he spends the next half an hour in deep, philosophical thought.

Initially, he concludes that universe is actively moving against him, or is on his side, he can't tell at this present moment, he's having too much of a hard time _not gawping_. 

Ten minutes later and he's rationalised that the universe isn't actively moving against him, that's stupid. He's merely gone insane. Simple as that. He's delirious. For all he knows, he could be in a padded cell right now, this whole thing one very vivid hallucination.

Six minutes after that, he toys with the notion that maybe his life _is_ being written for him, like a romantic comedy, or like The Truman Show, and people are watching his life for their amusement. Right now, all around the world, there are people giggling at him.

Really, it doesn't matter what grand scheme is afoot. He just can't accept that, by chance or coincidence, booksmart library guy Dean Winchester is standing there, right in front of him, leading this class, because he's one of Castiel's _English professors_. These things just don't happen.

After what he considers to be a quiet, but not so minor, mental breakdown, his pen is still and unused on his desk. His unabashed stare has been locked on Professor Winchester for the last forty five minutes and he realises with a start that, whatever's going on, he's still in class. If he isn't going completely batshit crazy, and this is real life, then he needs to start paying attention and listening to a word that's actually being said.

It's just a little difficult to do that, when he knows what the inside of his professor's mouth tastes like.

The class is two hours long and by the time it's five minutes to eleven, Castiel feels like he's going to throw up, or pass out, or freak and bolt. Maybe all three. He could book it and run, throwing up all the while and pass out a safe distance away. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

'Any questions?' Professor Winchester asks the class, drawing the lesson to a close. There's no response, and it makes him rub the back of his neck awkwardly. 'Well, thanks guys, it's been great. There'll be more involvement next class, but if you got this down, you're good. Take it easy.' He stares as nobody moves, then shuffles his tie awkwardly. 'Class dismissed? Go away!' he shouts, then laughs as half the class startle at the sudden loud noise.

Everybody in the room stands and begins to pack away their things, radiating a degree of apathy that only a room full of college students can produce.

Castiel takes his time packing his things into his bag, so much so that by the time he's finished half of his fellow students have already left. There's a girl asking Professor Winchester something, shifting her shoulder bag higher as she talks. Castiel hears her giggle and hot jealousy bursts through him; it's overwhelming, like a damn has been broken, but mostly he's freaking out so hard on the way to the door. He still can't believe this is real.

He finally gets to the bottom of the auditorium steps and stands awkwardly, waiting for the professor and the girl to finish their little chat.

'We'll discuss that next class,' Castiel watches him placate, glancing between him and the girl. 'You have a very valid point, well done Miss Masters.'

She walks off with her friend, but the second she's out of the picture, Castiel pays her no mind. Not when there's not a single person, not a single soul between him and Professor Dean Winchester, and they're alone together in the same room.

'Cas!' he greets, a huge smile on his face. 'I thought I might see you here.'

Then something unexpected happens. Whether it's his smile, or the pet name, or the girl, or every single shitty feeling he's had to fight through for the last nine months, Castiel knows one thing for sure:

He's fucking _furious_.

Dean must see his expression shift because he grimaces, running a hand through his hair. 'You're mad at me,' he states quietly.

'Understatement,' Castiel grits out through clenched teeth.

'Sorry I never got to say bye, Cas,' he pleads, biting his bottom lip. 'It all happened real fast. I applied for the job and heard from 'em two weeks later. I've already got the qualifications I needed, so they sent me to, uh, this boot camp for teachers. I lived there and everything. or I couldn't have started teaching this year. I had no way to get in touch with you, hell, I wanted to. You gotta believe me.' 

Castiel grunts noncommittally. Dean could have told him he was considering applying for the job _at all_ , that might have been some consolation.

'I told your mom?' Dean offers, all the hope in his voice bleeding out at Castiel's impassive expression. 'But, judgin' by the look on your face, she didn't tell you. _Shit_.' He runs a hand backward through his hair, staring at the floor like it has the answers.

'No, she did not. Both of my parents have disowned me,' Castiel admits, voice eerily calm.

Dean's gaze shoots up at him. 'What? Why?!'

Castiel shrugs. 'I'm a homosexual, Dean. That was enough.'

Dean curses and his shoulders droop. He truly looks utterly heartbroken, green eyes soulful and lost. 'Cas,' his voice is quiet, something Castiel really isn't used to at all and it softens him. 'I'm so sorry.'

Castiel shrugs again, glancing at the floor as his anger begins to ebb away at the edges, his resolve cracking just a little. It isn't like it's Dean's fault, entirely, but he isn't ready to throw him that bone just yet.

A moment of silence stretches between them, long and tense.

'Look, Cas, I understand if you don't like me anymore, okay? I get it,' the professor rationalises. 'But, as long as you're takin' this class, I gotta be your professor first, understood?' Dean's voice is hard, professional, authoritative, and Castiel gets it. Authority isn't just a kink for Dean, it makes him feel comfortable, feel safe, in control, with his stupid suit and his stupid tie and, once, a long time ago, Castiel himself was part of what made Dean feel comfortable.

'Yes, professor,' Castiel replies reflexively, because he looks like he's about to vibrate out of his own skin.

Dean laughs then, softly, and when he looks at Castiel, there's a glint in his eye, that same look Castiel thinks will make his stomach swoop for the rest of his life. He hasn't seen anyone look at him like that for a long time, hasn't even let himself think about Dean in a long time, his confident smile that makes Castiel want to drop to his knees. 

So he figures, what the hell? Dean had tried. Sure, he might not have made some very wise decisions, but he was making the most out of a messy situation. Besides, it's not like Castiel had been all that truthful or reliable himself. He's not going to ruin their chances of being friends, or maybe coworkers in the future, by being bitter for the sake of it.

'What I mean, is, uh-' Castiel stammers eventually, feeling his face heat up. 'I understand. It's good to see you again, Dean.'

'You too, Cas,' he replies gently, smiling. Something warm and familiar inside of Castiel begins to flutter to life, something he hasn't felt so long he'd forgotten what it's like. So he nods, trying to hide his smile, and takes the opportunity to leave while he's still sure his feet will do what they're supposed to.

It's only when he's back in his dorm, alone, lying on his bed with his hands resting behind his head, staring at his ceiling and smiling does Castiel really, truly let it sink in. Dean is back in his life, Dean Winchester, _Professor_ Dean Winchester, and he looks good, real good, dapper and sharp in his work suit. 

He lets himself think about how it would feel to be down for him again, let him take control just one more time, use him for his own pleasure. He knows he shouldn't, he _knows_ -

He ends up jerking off so hard he scrunches his eyes shut and sees stars. Even coming down, wiping his hand on a towel, panting and beaming at the ceiling, Castiel feels ecstatic. Dean really cares about him, or at cares enough to give a damn about Castiel being upset with him, and he's here, fuck yeah he's here. They're back in one another's lives, after all this time.

Castiel punches the air, shouting 'yes!' and laughing at his stupid life.

~*~

The next few weeks are surreal but, mostly, brilliant. Queer Theory, as a course, doesn't disappoint, and Castiel finds himself getting more and more passionate about it with every class he attends. He doesn't even talk to Professor Winchester after every lesson, just most of them, though the discussions they have are entirely course-based, much to Castiel's dismay. He begins to wonder if the spark they had has fizzled out, too much confusion and hurt between them for any fire to be rekindled. It's a sad thought, but probably for the best.

That is, until one Wednesday afternoon when Professor Winchester has more energy and enthusiasm for the subject than Castiel's seen in any professor before, ever.

'And, because I'll drill it into your sex-fuelled alcoholic brains, someone remind me whose work was derived from to form the foundation of queer theory?' he asks, pacing back and forth before the projector screen.

Castiel raises his hand and Dean nods at him to answer.

'Foucault, _sir_ ,' Castiel drawls shamelessly, because he knows this. Everyone knows this, Professor Winchester's been drilling it into their heads since day one.

Dean coughs. 'Yes. Uh-. Thank you, Mr. Novak,' he replies, then he turns away, suddenly quiet for the first time that lesson, no longer firing off questions or theories. Castiel frowns, unsure of what's come over him, whether he said something wrong.

'Take down the notes on this slide please,' Professor Winchester barks, crossing to his podium and pulling up a new projection slide. Castiel begins, opening a fresh new page and bullet pointing the required sentences. 

In the middle of taking down the notes, he looks up momentarily and realises Professor Winchester is _staring_ at him, eyes full of intent. All at once, there's no professionalism between them, and it's Dean looking at him, possessive and in control, just as he used to be. Castiel shuffles in his seat, ears flushing with the attention and shoots him a wry smirk, his eyelashes fluttering as they hold one another's glance for a moment or two longer.

Then Professor Winchester pulls his gaze, and continues the lesson like nothing ever happened.

~*~

The weeks carry on, blending into one another, the course progressing into deeper and more interesting territories than Castiel had expected. He doesn't want it to end, and that has little to nothing to do with the guy teaching the course.

A year ago, Castiel would never have guessed Dean to be the kind of man who'd want to be a professor. He'd never really asked what Dean wanted to do, what he was qualified to do, just took him for the booksmart mechanic he presented himself to be and hadn't asked questions. He could not have been more wrong.

Dean is intelligent, quick-witted, sharp and really _funny_. He's become a fast favourite with all his students, Castiel included. He knows each of their needs, pushes them to do their best, pays close attention to each and every one of them. Even if Castiel hadn't known Dean before he'd gotten the job and become the illustrious, unobtainable Professor Winchester, he probably would have had a huge, unfaltering crush on him all the same.

Which is why Castiel likes to tease him, make him think, make him argue, intellectually prodding him, poking him, seeing how far he can push him.

'Well you're entitled to your opinion, Cas-' Professor Winchester counters, smirking. 'So long as it's backed up with facts from the books. Y'need evidence, or else it's just _your opinion_. Nobody gives a damn about opinions.'

'Mm, but what's yours, sir?' Castiel asks, brazen and honest. There's a playful smirk on his face, hyper-aware there are other students still leaving and he's asking Professor Winchester about his opinion on homoerotic subtext in Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

'I-' He nods to a student who waves at him on the way out. 'We can talk more in my office,' Dean offers.

Castiel's stomach swoops despite himself. This could just be a perfectly innocent discussion after class, there's no inclination in his voice, no expression on his face to indicate otherwise. It's all Castiel, pushing him, provoking him, discussing the material.

'Sure,' he accepts, shrugging like it means little to him.

They both stand to leave, Professor Winchester gathering the last of his things, when a familiar face walks through the door.

'Cassie!' Balthazar greets cheerily, closing the space between them and pulling Castiel into a tight hug. 'Glad I ran into _you_ ,' He pulls away, keeping his hand on Castiel's arm and looking him dead in the eye. 'Fancy a drink, love? For old times' sake.' he asks, sultry and sweet, as if Professor Winchester isn't even there.

Castiel's ears flush and he glances to his professor, who is pointedly looking anywhere but at them. Castiel can tell he heard – he must have heard – from the tension in his shoulders, the defensive line of his body. He dies a little inside; goddamn he was getting somewhere, and Balthazar's just blown it for him, completely.

Then, before he manages to get a word out of his mouth about his busy schedule and how he has a meeting he really has to get to, Professor Winchester interjects with a loud voice and a schooled smile. 'Balthazar! Since you're not busy, can you drop by my office in fifteen minutes? We gotta talk about your last paper.'

Balthazar's expression flashes from cocky and sure to absolutely terrified so fast it makes Castiel's head spin a little. He frowns, watching Balthazar mumble something about having to get somewhere else first and leave as fast as he can.

'You know where my office is, don't you Castiel?' Professor Winchester asks and oh, _oh_ , there's the tone Castiel had been waiting for.

'Of course,' Castiel answers politely.

All the way there, through the four short winding corridors that make up the English department, Castiel doesn't dare look anywhere but the carpet in front, chewing his bottom lip while his stomach flips with nerves.

Professor Winchester gets to the door first, stepping in front of him and holding it open. His office is pretty small, there are shelves on every wall, and books on every shelf, a plant on his desk and familiar-looking motorbike helmet left on one if the high shelves. Castiel inhales, it smells like dust, soap and motor oil. It smells like Dean's old house and it makes something stir in his chest. The door clicks shut.

'You sucked his cock, didn't you?' Professor Winchester asks, his voice low and right behind Castiel. It makes him gasp, grabbing a hold of the desk as a shiver runs up his spine. 'That's him, that's the guy,' he carries on, sounding so sure. 

Castiel, reluctantly, nods.

'Didn't realise you had a thing for British guys,' the professor mutters and – hell – he sounds almost bitter.

Castiel spins around, mouth open to argue, but he gets as far as 'Dean-' before he crowds up in his space, so close, his gaze dropping to Castiel's lips.

'I know,' he admits gruffly, quietly, sighing. 'It was messy, at best.'

Castiel, though, is done. He's just _done_. He's done waiting for Dean to make the first move, because for someone who likes authority, sometimes he's kind of useless at it. He closes the distance between them, doesn't care what happens after, and kisses his professor- kisses _Dean_ \- like he needs him to breathe. They both moan on contact, Dean grabbing onto Castiel and holding him close, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him there.

He feels amazing, his mouth tasting like it always had and Castiel ruts up against him, whimpering with the bliss of it all, having him _right here_. He can't count how many times he's closed his eyes and wanted this, just this, nothing else, and he doesn't care if Dean is a guy from book club, a guy who fixes his dad's car or his fucking college professor, they're right like this and nothing will ever convince him otherwise.

He pants between kisses, letting himself be pulled close, grasping at Dean's shirt. Dean's body is hot, writhing above him and pushing him back into the desk. Castiel hops back onto it, spreading his legs and chuckling, eyeing Dean before pulling him into the space between them with his tie and kissing him again.

Dean's hands fly to his hair, grasping it hard enough to make him moan into his mouth. They writhe against each other, gasping when their cocks brush against one another, hard and straining in their slacks. Dean rocks his hips, one of his hands holding the base of his spine, pulling them together. Castiel whines, the friction so good and not enough, he's missed the feeling of Dean's cock, big and hard in his hands, in his mouth. He gasps, smirking up at Dean, about to tell him all of this when there's a knock at the door. 

Castiel is flushed, his hair is everywhere and he is painfully hard. There's no way, even if he slipped out of the office, that the person on the other side of that door wouldn't know what was going on.

'Under the desk, baby,' Dean commands with a whisper, voice sure but gentle. Another shiver runs right through Castiel as he hurriedly obeys, blood thrumming hot under his skin.

Dean follows him sharply, sitting at his desk and pulling the chair right under. 'Now be a good boy, and earn what you want,' he whispers hurriedly to Cas before announcing 'come in!'

Castiel has to slap a hand over his mouth and stop breathing when Dean's hands unzip his own slacks, taking his hard cock out of his pants and his boxers, holding it right in front of him, red and hard and so fucking beautiful. Castiel almost whimpers, he _wants_. He's missed it so much, the feeling of Dean's cock in his mouth, stretching his lips, blocking his throat. He's not sure if he dares, but then Dean makes a come here motion with one of his hands under the desk, and it's so wrong, so bad, but it's too easy for him to give in and obey.

'You wanted to see me, Professor?' Balthazar asks uncertainly from somewhere near the door.

'Of course, take a seat,' Professor Winchester invites, his breath just short of hitching as the boy under the table takes him in his mouth. Castiel has to swallow a moan, Dean's cock tastes so fucking good, hot and heavy on his tongue. He starts slow, teasing, his tongue flat under the head, sucking gently, soft and not enough because damn, if he's going to this, he'll do it properly.

'I need to talk to you about your performance, Balthazar,' Professor Winchester states, voice all business-talk. Castiel slows when one of his knees starts jerking a little, but a hand on the back of his neck urges him to carry on. Fuck, he's needy already. 

'You're slacking, man,' Professor Winchester carries on, humiliating Balthazar for his work. 'Come on, you know you can do better. You aced your first couple of essays and then this?' A flurry of paper hits the desk. 'It's not bad, s'just not your best. You know it, I know it, and I won't- _Ah_ \- Won't let you half-ass your way through my course.' To his credit, Professor Winchester's voice is practically steady, a constant stream of gruff criticism while Castiel works hungrily on his cock, lips stretched around it. 

He's so turned on he feels like he's going to go blind, stomach squirming because Dean's being possessive over him, he planned this, doing it all because he _can_. Castiel has to force the heel of his palm against his dick just to stop himself from coming in his pants.

Above him, Balthazar's getting flustered and embarrassed, mumbling half-assed reasons things are difficult for him at the moment. Castiel zones out, focusing on unwinding Dean and it works, because the next words out of Professor Winchester's mouth are strained at best.

'Just- _Nngh-_ Buck it up, son,' he interrupts Balthazar's stream of excuses, pushing his cock an inch further into Castiel's throat. 'I've got- Got to get to a meeting now, but I'm here any other time if you need- _Mmn_ \- If you want pointers.'

'Um, thanks,' Balthazar mutters, grateful of the reprieve, but sounding kind of confused as to why this meeting is suddenly over and Professor Winchester is twitching in his seat.

'Remember to shut the door on your way out,' Professor Winchester reminds him, clicking his mouse a couple of times, pretending to check his emails.

It takes an age for Balthazar to leave, but once he does, Dean lets out a low groan and pushes back, reaching under the desk, threading his fingers into Castiel's hair and tugging him off. Dean's cock is spit-slick and twitching, inches from Castiel's mouth, and he can do little but smirk up at his professor, kneeling with swollen lips and a bulge in his slacks, the perfect picture of innocent debauchery.

'You dirty boy. Forgot how good you are at sucking your Daddy's cock,' Dean teases, and Castiel moans, eyes fluttering closed, because he thought Dean had forgotten about that. In truth, Castiel had just forgotten how easily, how readily Dean can make Castiel feel like he belongs to him.

He reaches for Dean's cock, pink tongue stretched out, wanting to suck more, make him come down his throat, but the hand in his hair clenches, a warning, making him wince and still. 'No Cas,' he warns.

He stares at Dean's cock instead, hard and flushed and _right there_ , imagining it inside of him, remembering it inside of him. 'Will you fuck me, Daddy? Oh _please_ ,' Castiel whines. 'Please, I need it, it's been so long.' 

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?' Dean chuckles, pulling Castiel up from under the desk. His knees are stiff and he winces a little, but then Dean's hand is rubbing his cock through his slacks and they almost give out completely. 

Castiel lets out a shuddering moan, tilting his head back and whimpering, 'yes, sir'.

'Hm,' Dean looks up and down him, taking in the sight, considering. 'Go and lock the door, then take your pants off, and come sit on my lap like a good boy.' He instructs, leaning back in his big leather office chair.

Castiel hurriedly scrambles to lock the door, double-checking before he unzips his slacks as quickly as he can, careful not to get caught in the zipper. He pulls them down and off, along with his boxers, almost moaning at the lack of restraint. His cock is hard, swollen, curving up towards his belly.

Dean lets out a low whistle of approval, Castiel standing in front of him, as he fishes lube and a condom out of his top desk drawer. 'Such a pretty boy, aren't you?' Castiel preens a little under the praise, watching him as he rolls the condom onto himself. 'Your shirt, too,' he adds, biting his lip and holding the base of his cock as Castiel strips naked in front of him without a moment's hesitation.

A moment passes, almost long enough for Castiel to start feeling self-conscious, naked and vulnerable like this in his professor's office, but Dean is looking at him with lust-blown eyes, making the blood dance under his skin.

'C'mere,' Dean whispers, voice low and heavy. Castiel lets out a stuttering breath, crawling onto Dean's lap as much as he can, knees slotted into the small spaces between Dean and the arms of the chair. He wraps his arms around Dean's neck, gasping as one moist finger is pressed gently between the globes of his ass.

'Up on your knees for me,' Dean orders. Castiel's breath hitches as he kneels up as much as he can, his dick rubbing against the soft fabric of Dean's dress shirt, gasping as a slick finger breaches him. It feels incredible, but he needs more, and before long he's bearing down to meet it, grunting and gasping.

'More, please,' he whispers, hopefully, practically mewling when Dean groans and adds another, fucking him slowly and scissoring him open. It burns so sweetly, and Dean is stroking his lower back lightly with the other hand, murmuring what a good boy he is, how tight he feels, how good he feels, how much he's missed making him come apart like this.

It doesn't take long for Castiel to loosen up completely, Dean's words making heat stir in his lower belly. Dean fucks him with three fingers, deep and slow, nudging at his prostate and making him whine.

'Come _on_ ,' Castiel urges, nipping at Dean's ear with his teeth. 'I need you to fuck me, _professor_.'

Dean chuckles in response, pulling his fingers free and smirking at the soft noise of discontent Castiel makes. 'Insolent,' he scolds. 'Going to have to re-teach you some manners, boy.'

'Sir?' Castiel asks, all coy and innocent, before lining himself up and rocking himself back onto Dean's cock without another word.

'Fuck,' Dean gasps, fingers digging so hard into Castiel's slim hips they'll bruise. Castiel groans quietly, trying to slow his breathing and concentrate. He forgot just how big Dean is, how deep he can get, how intense the stretch is. He moans as he bottoms out, wiggling his hips a little, feeling Dean's cock nudge against his prostate.

He waits a moment or two, until Dean's eyes open and stare at him, before starting to move. 'Manners, sir,' he pants, rocking his hips back and forth on Dean's lap, determined to pull him apart. 'Are usually taught by men who don't curse.'

'Always did have a smart mouth,' Dean laughs, hissing and moaning appreciatively when Castiel starts to ride him a little harder, leaning in to kiss him, wet and sloppy. 'Smart, talented mouth.'

'Thank you sir,' Castiel practically purrs in his ear before leaning back a little, one hand clinging to his shoulder, bouncing on his cock and keeping up a rhythm so good his thighs burn.

Dean moans, wrapping Castiel's cock in his strong, slick fingers and stroking him off, murmuring 'good boy, gonna come on Daddy's work shirt?' and Castiel just loses it, riding Dean as hard as he can, twisting his hips and thrusting up into his hand, gasping 'yes, _yes_!'.

He can feel Dean's cock swell inside of him, gasping when he's thrown onto his back on the desk, Dean stood over him, fucking into him, pulling his legs up to wrap around his waist. 'Cas, oh God _Cas_ ,' he moans, hips stuttering. He thrusts harder, faster, shoving as deep inside Castiel as he can go and then he's coming with a choked off cry, spilling into him, warm and wet. Castiel is so close, so damn close, orgasm pooling in his belly as Dean's panting gasps fill his ears. 

'Come for me, Cas,' Dean growls, sending Castiel over the edge, his back arching as stripes of his come paint his stomach, Dean's hand and even a little on his shirt.

'Shit,' Dean gasps, leaning down to nose into Castiel's neck. Gently, tenderly, he pulls out and sits back in his chair, tugging Castiel onto his lap and holding him close.

'Mm,' Castiel agrees, voice wrecked, trying to ignore the tight feeling in his chest, winding himself impossibly closer to Dean. He buries his face in his neck, not wanting to let him go. Not again. He needs to stay here, clinging on for just a moment longer.

'Hey, hey,' Dean soothes, picking up on Castiel's body language, pulling him closer so he doesn't have to hold on for dear life. 'Look, Cas, I know- I know we didn't do this right, and it's all kinda backwards, but...' He gently goads Castiel into looking at him, one gentle hand nudging his chin. 'Let me take you for a drink?' His smile is almost sheepish, shy, and a warmth spreads through Castiel's chest as he stares into those familiar green eyes.

He blinks once, twice, then beams and nods, leaning in for just one more kiss. 'I'd love that,' he breathes.

~*~

Six months later, and everyone knows Castiel and Professor Winchester are dating. Mostly because all they do is flirt with each other, and a rumour went round that they were caught kissing before class. (Which, okay, they totally were, but the ten or so supposed witnesses to the event all claim to have seen nothing.) 

One afternoon, Castiel finds himself wondering whether Balthazar had any idea what was going on that day. Maybe he did, but with the sun shining as he climbs into the Impala, he decides he doesn't care. Dean is already there waiting, humming Led Zeppelin to himself, and they have a whole weekend stretched in front of them, wrapped up in one another, with nobody else around. 

Castiel has never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'm entirely happy with the way this turned out, but it's long overdue and I didn't want to break any more hearts leaving it unfinished. That being said, when I planned this, I clearly did not think through the ridiculous plot twist, and wrote it anyway. Then gave it a ridiculous title.
> 
> Oh and I know nothing about Queer Theory except what I read on Wikipedia.
> 
> If you got this far and enjoyed it, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I'm writing something that isn't at least 50% smut but this... This isn't it.
> 
> [writing tumblr!](http://choir-of-angels.tumblr.com)


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